“You’re actually here,” she says, her voice low.
“I told you I would come back.”
“You didn’t say like this,” she replies, her eyes flicking past me toward Verr, the soldiers, the line of steel cutting through the center of the village.
“What did you bring with you?” she asks.
“Help,” I say.
She doesn’t believe it.
I can see that.
But she nods anyway.
“Then we’ll use it,” she says.
That’s all I need.
I turn backto the crowd, stepping forward again.
“We don’t have time to ease into this,” I say. “They’re moving faster than expected, and if they reach us before we’re ready?—”
I don’t finish it.
I don’t need to.
“What do we do?” someone asks.
There it is.
“We organize,” I say.
I point toward different sections of the village as I speak, not waiting for permission, not hesitating.
“Water teams—every container filled before nightfall. If the river drops more, we ration.”
They move.
Fast.
“You—structures. Anything weak gets reinforced now, not when it’s too late.”
More movement.
“You—watch rotations. No gaps. I don’t care how tired you are.”
The shift happens quickly, faster than it should, but that’s how it works here. People don’t wait for perfect instructions—they move when they understand the stakes.
I glance back at Verr.
“Your turn,” I say quietly.
He studies me for half a second, then steps forward.
The reaction is immediate.
Stillness.
